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| - Once, when I was a kid, I was reading a book at recess because I was a big nerd and that's how I rolled.
This kid in my school, his name was Weston, came up behind me and, without warning, kicked me in the crotch as hard as he could. It was the kind of kick where I didn't see it coming. His foot caught me right in the jewel-box and lifted me a good six inches off the ground. I felt everything go weak in my body. I crumpled to the ground clutching my boys and screaming. I cried like a little baby. You would have, too.
Weston ran off--I didn't find out he was the one who did it until days later. When the playground teacher walked over to find out what was wrong with me, I couldn't even talk to tell her what had happened. I thew up from the pain.
When I could finally function again, I discovered my book had scattered a few feet out in front of me and landed in a puddle. It was ruined. And I had brought that book from home.
For weeks, nay MONTHS, after that, the other boys in my class thought it was so funny that I got nut-rocked like I did, that they spent most of their free moments trying to find ways to replicate it. When I walked through the halls, I had to constantly look over my shoulder, lest I find a foot planted in my nards. When I was at recess, I had to stand with my back to the wall at all times, lest someone attempt to crotch-punt me across the playground again.
It was miserable. I had started out first grade loving school. After that day, I never once liked school again.
Sarku Japan's chicken teriyaki is so good, that when I eat it, for a few blessed seconds, I forget the trauma of that event.
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